


Day Fifteen: Music

by AfinaArchives



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Voidtember2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfinaArchives/pseuds/AfinaArchives
Summary: It was during her first year at Dalaran that Afina discovered the human invention called a piano.
Relationships: None
Kudos: 1
Collections: Voidtember2019





	Day Fifteen: Music

It was during her first year at Dalaran that Afina discovered the human invention called a piano. The sounds it created were unlike the strings and flutes of Quel’thalas, able to reach notes as low as a cello and as high the sung notes of a Stratocaster. It played without needing a full ensemble or open area. It played in rain or shine. 

It warmed souls in the dead of winter and brought a chill to the spine in the head of summer.

Regardless of where one stood, the piano’s music would fill them.

Which was likely why the sensitive eared elves didn’t keep these strange instruments.

Humans were creatures of the moment, and their inventions took on their forms. Adaptive, loud, boisterous yet capable of softer, sweeter things. There were few limitations to the piano aside from its inherent size. Which, given their penchant for plate spaulders, Afina decided was another human trait the piano revealed.

Like all things, it came slowly.

First there was alarm, then inquiry, then appreciation, and finally a love of the piano’s music.

And as with all things, those who ask seek.

Passing a room left ajar after her last class of the day, divination, Afina paused. There windows upon each wall, a railing upon one. The floor a matte black, soft, and padded. In the back corner it sat, and old thing which had seen many years of use, wear, and tear.

It invited her in.

Sitting down with a creak, she winced at the initial notes. Not knowing what chords to play, or how to even perform them. The skeets before her were in an alien language of bars and dots, different than that of Thalassian or her beloved maths.

But there fractions, and within those fractions a time.

She returned, and returned, and returned to that room.

And as with all things, time and effort lead her to becoming better.


End file.
